


Joined-Up with Jobberknolls

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: snapelyholidays, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the Spell Damage ward is not what it used to be and, after making an unexpected friend, Gilderoy might grow to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joined-Up with Jobberknolls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleblackbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/gifts).



> Written for littleblackbow in the 2009 Snapelyholidays. She said that getting together stories were great and that you like adult friendship stories. This has a little bit of each of those prompts.
> 
> Oh, and a Jobberknoll is a tiny, blue speckled bird whose feathers are used in potions that affect/improve memory.
> 
>  **Beta:** r_grayjoy

"Gilderoy, you shouldn't be out here. Not when dinner's about to be served."

Stifling a curse, Gilderoy Lockhart pasted a vacuously pleasant expression on his face and turned away from the window and its view of the garden to look at Healer Bracenwell and her oversized robes. "We're doing autographs," he offered, as he always did when the Healers questioned him.

Bracenwell frowned, which did absolutely nothing for her already blotchy complexion, and glanced around the room. Her gaze settled on the closest of the few occupants of the Day Room: a teenage boy with lank black hair hanging in his face, who was reading a book in the chair next to the window. "I hardly think anyone here is interested in a picture of you."

"Of course he is, aren't you?" Gilderoy fluffed his hair, tightened the belt of his jade green dressing gown, and moved closer to the boy. "Four, I'm sure you said."

"Might've done," muttered the boy, without looking up, and continued reading.

"Joined-up writing," Gilderoy said, making it sound like an explanation. He retrieved his peacock feather quill from his pocket with a flourish that sent several barbules floating to the floor. It was looking rather bald, he thought. Perhaps he could persuade Gladys Gudgeon to send him a new feather with her next letter. It would be so much better than the lace-encrusted what-not she sent two months earlier.

"You really ought to come back to the ward, Gilderoy," Bracenwell said. "There's a lovely bit of chicken for dinner tonight."

"A lovely bit of dragonhide would taste better," Gilderoy muttered. Not rolling his eyes hurt briefly, but he didn't allow his vacuous expression to falter.

The boy sniggered and raised his head, displaying a nose that would have benefited from a decent Surgical Healer wielding a Bone-Shaving spell. "Bloke seems pretty harmless," he said. "I'm sure I can find _something_ to do with a picture of him."

Consternation and surprise flickered across Bracenwell's face. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and said, "I hardly think—"

Another snigger and the boy asked, "You don't really want to go there, do you?"

Before their conversation could degenerate any further, Gilderoy interrupted with his most winsome smile — the one that was still winning him awards — and suggested, "Perhaps we can have dinner here, Healer Bracenwell. It was so lovely when you let me have that little treat on my birthday, and it is almost the holidays."

"Well, I really shouldn't."

Gilderoy turned up the wattage on his smile and watched her objections crumble.

"Fine, I'll let the elves know. Just this once, mind you. It wouldn't do to have everyone eating wherever they pleased."

"Thank you." Gilderoy swept her a bow and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. "This young lad and I will never forget your generosity."

She harrumphed and narrowed her eyes, but didn't change her mind.

When she'd left, herding the two other patients in the room before her, Gilderoy dropped his quill on the small table and collapsed into a nearby chair. Dramatically and attractively, of course.

"Dunderheads, the whole lot of them," the boy muttered.

"What?" Gilderoy arched an eyebrow.

"Them." The boy gestured in the direction of the door. "Buying that load of tripe you fork over."

"You've watched have you?"

"Can hardly miss it, can I?" The boy marked his place in the book with care and glared at Gilderoy. "You swan around here like you own the place, pulling out that bloody quill every time someone says anything."

After a moment's consideration, and the realisation that the boy looked vaguely familiar, Gilderoy said, "I'm Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Yes, I know."

When the boy didn't offer up his name, Gilderoy reached for his quill and tapped it on the armrest.

The boy contemplated the quill. "Like I said, they're all dunderheads." Then he nodded as if coming to a decision. "Severus Snape."

An image of a tall, unattractive man in severe black robes popped into Gilderoy's mind. Before he could stop himself, he said, "You're supposed to be older."

"And you're supposed to have forgotten everything."

 _Touché_ , Gilderoy thought. He was still trying to work out how to ask what had happened to Snape when one of the hospital's house-elves popped in with their dinners.

~***~

The problem, Gilderoy found, was that being himself was addictive. He liked not having to pretend he was a mindless twerp. He wasn't as smart as Severus by any means, but he could hold his own in a conversation on most subjects. After all, even if he hadn't performed all of the deeds in his books, he'd excelled at the research required to find those who had. And, Merlin help him, Severus seemed to find his deceit and his exploits amusing.

Until Severus began talking to him as if he were an adult with all his faculties, he hadn't realised how humiliating it was to be treated like an infant. He had to remind himself that he couldn't hurt Bracenwell when she started billing and cooing.

So, Gilderoy made a point of looking for and spending time with Severus over the next few weeks. They talked about everything but their reasons for being in the Spell Damage Ward. Unlike Gilderoy, who had been relegated to one bed among the many others in the Janus Thickey Ward, Severus had a semi-private room on the next corridor, between Gilderoy's and the Rose Parkinson Ward for Children.

Late one Monday morning, Gilderoy wandered past Severus's room just in time to see his roommate, Stan Shunpike, disappear down the corridor. The man had his bags in hand and was surrounded by bickering relatives. Gilderoy stopped to watch the parade. It really was quite stunning, and not in a good way, to see that many people who looked like Shunpike in one place.

"He's off home," Severus said, drawing Gilderoy's attention away from the parade.

"Really?" Gilderoy considered the matter. "Did that last attempt restore his memory, then?"

"Not exactly."

"And yet, they're releasing him."

"Stan's memory's still got as many holes as Emmenthal cheese, but," Severus shrugged, "apparently he can remember everything that's happened since he got here, so he's considered a success."

"Oh," Gilderoy managed. He followed Severus into his room and sat down on the bare mattress that had been Shunpike's bed. The whole thing was quite disturbing, really, especially when he considered the shifty way that Healer Pye had been observing him lately. He might find himself released, and then where would he be? Out in the cold with _expectations_. Fans demanding more books and more trips and more everything, and all those other people wanting to trip him up and prove him a fraud. Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake. Everyone would believe Harry Potter.

A bony finger poked him in the shoulder and Gilderoy looked up with a sharp, "What?"

"Potter's got a guilt-complex," Severus said.

Frowning, Gilderoy went back over his thoughts. He hadn't always known when he was speaking his thoughts aloud, but that hadn't happened to him in months. Had it?

"Don't worry." Severus flopped onto the bed next to him, making the mattress bounce. "You didn't say anything. I just know what you're thinking."

"You do, do you?"

"I do." Severus nodded in emphasis. "You just have to know the trick of stealing the rug out from under Potter before he can get his brain engaged. Do it right, and you'll have Potter eating out of your hands in no time, feeling guilty for dragging you into a fight with the Dark Lord completely unprepared and getting you hurt instead of going to the Headmaster."

"He's just one wizard."

Severus's lip curled up in distaste. "He's the Boy Who Lived to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World. If he can persuade people that I'm a hero, he can definitely save you from the consequences of your own stupidity."

Gilderoy turned to glare at Severus, which was when he noticed. "You're older," he said, as if accusing him of a crime. "When did you do that?" _And why_ , he wondered silently, but didn't ask.

"Healers. Testing to make sure the cure for the side-effects of their original cure works." Severus's mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "I told the Healer and that sot who calls himself a Potions Master that the antivenin needed a minimum of one clockwise stir for every four counter-clockwise. Bloody idiots." He snorted. "At least I'm old enough to use a wand now. If they'd let me have one."

"No wands on the spell damage ward," Gilderoy intoned the first in a series of rules invoked after the war ended.

"That's what they say, yes. Although some people have managed to get around that particular rule."

"Really?" Gilderoy batted his eyelashes. "And with the Healers so vigilant in protecting the _Heroes of the Wizarding World_ these days."

Severus's bark of laughter was harsh but his eyes gleamed with amusement. "You've got them wrapped around your little finger. They can't see the wand for the—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Gilderoy said and waggled a finger at Severus. "You don't want to be a bad boy, do you?"

Something changed in Severus at those words. He seemed to close in on himself, even as he flung himself off the bed and went over to his own, neatly made bed. As it had been every time Gilderoy had been in this room, Severus's half was neat, tidy, and would have looked uninhabited if not for the stacks of books on top of the dresser and bedside table, and the ink splotches on the bedspread. The edges of a sheaf of parchment stuck out from the drawer of the bedside table.

Wanting to change the subject, Gilderoy asked, "All that parchment, are you writing a book? Because I wrote a lot of books, you know. Bestsellers all of them."

In series of quick movements, Severus had the drawer open, the parchment shoved back inside, and the drawer shut again.

His curiosity piqued, Gilderoy stood up and went to stand next to Severus. He had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for the drawer. "Whatever else you want to say about my books, I'm a good writer. I could help, if you'll let me."

Catching movement at the door from the corner of his eye, Gilderoy added, "I have my very own quill and I know joined-up writing."

"I don't—"

"There you are." Bustling into the room, Healer Bracenwell caught Gilderoy's arm. "Honestly, I don't know what we'll do with you. Always wandering off, you are."

Before Gilderoy could protest, or whip out his quill and some photographs, she continued, "And none of that. I'm sure Severus has more than enough already." She tugged at him. "Come along now. We don't want to keep Healer Pye waiting, now do we? He has a little test for you today."

"Severus?" Gilderoy said, a little desperately.

"You should go," was the only answer.

~***~

Gilderoy sat on his bed, his arms wrapped around his chest, clinging to himself, and rocked. Severus was gone. Without a word or a gesture. Just packed up and gone. And Gilderoy was alone again with no one he could trust.

A scuffing noise at the end of his bed forced him to look up, but it was only Alice on her daily scurry around the ward, clutching the soft toy toad she'd got from that boy of hers.

She'd never be alone, he thought wistfully. Not with her equally addled husband in the next bed and her son and mother-in-law visiting at least once a week. She didn't even realise how lucky she was to have family, unlike Gilderoy, who had no one except the idiots who wrote every week to demand yet another piece of someone who wasn't him.

"Lucky bitch," he muttered. And, with that, he was inundated with all the usual sounds that came with living in a cavernous room with a host of damaged and crazy people: coughing and scratching and banging and muttering, the hiss and beep of monitoring spells and, most annoyingly, the incessant moaning of that Vane chit.

 _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,_ , he wanted to yell, but he didn't. He got up and yanked the curtains around his bed closed. He clung to them for a moment, enjoying the almost-peace-and-quiet as the muffling spell transformed the sounds into white noise.

Then he turned around and was faced with himself. Picture after picture of him waving, posing, posturing, grinning inanely, his white teeth far too visible. He stalked over and tore them down, one at a time, ripping them into tiny pieces and wishing he could hear himself scream.

~***~

"You created quite a mess," Healer-in-Charge Tsang said. "And not just that, you upset almost every patient in the ward, disrupting routine and requiring an emergency dispensing of Calming Tonics."

Gilderoy shifted in his chair. He was in his favourite dressing gown, the lilac one that usually made him feel as if he could handle anything but which only left him feeling underdressed for this meeting. He rubbed a hand over the outline of his quill, drawing comfort from the buzz of his transfigured wand's magic, and remained silent. Offering autographs hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

"Healer Pye," Tsang gestured towards the man who was sitting in the other chair, "believes that you are ready to be released, that you have regained, at a very minimum, a sufficient percentage of your memories to allow you to function in the Wizarding World."

Again Gilderoy didn't say anything. He didn't even glare at the pimply-faced, self-satisfied twit who was the reason he'd been dragged into this meeting.

"Mr Lockhart?" Tsang leant back in his chair and looked through his spectacles and down his nose at Gilderoy.

"I have... flashes. Sometimes I see someone, or smell something, and there's an image or a series of them," Gilderoy finally admitted, hoping that would be enough.

It clearly wasn't.

Pye waved his wand and a series of brain images appeared in the air between them and Tsang. He pointed to the one furthest to the right. "The results of the latest brain imaging spell clearly show a dramatic increase in brain activity since Mr Lockhart was first admitted. And, if you compare the steady improvement shown in the scans taken over the length of his stay, well, the conclusion is obvious."

"But I don't remember everything," Gilderoy protested, drawing the tattered remains of his dignity around him. "A bit here and there. Nothing like you're implying."

"And you didn't feel it necessary to inform your healers of this?" Disappointment radiated off Tsang.

"I didn't know what was happening at first." Gilderoy stared down at his hands, which were twisting the satin of his dressing gown. "I tried to say something, when I remembered being swallowed by an enormous hole in the ground, but Healer Bracenwell just told me it was a nightmare and to take my potions."

"I see." This time Gilderoy could detect sympathy in Tsang's voice.

"Quite understandable," Pye said, his voice as bright with triumph as Gilderoy's once had been. "However, I do believe that this makes Mr Lockhart a viable candidate for our supervised release programme."

Gilderoy blurted out, "Supervised?"

"Usually, we place a patient with family," Pye explained after Tsang gave him a nod. "However, in your case, we'll need to find someone willing to take you in."

A shudder ran through Gilderoy as the name, Gladys Gudgeon, ran through his mind. "You'll... you won't..." he faltered, not even knowing how to ask.

"Don't worry, Mr Lockhart, we'll find someone appropriate for you." And with that less than reassuring statement Tsang slapped his hand down on a button on his desk, and Gilderoy's escort returned to take him back to the ward.

~***~

Twirling his peacock feather quill and watching several of its remaining barbules float free, Gilderoy sat on the bare mattress of his — already stripped — bed and waited. His trunk sat on the floor next to him. It was hard to believe that everything he owned barely filled half a trunk. He could remember the days when he hadn't travelled with less than a dozen trunks with built-in wizard space, plus a set of warded crates for his portraits. All part of an image he no longer needed nor, in fact, desired to maintain.

The ward continued around him as if his life were not being turned topsy-turvy. The odour of burnt toast and overcooked eggs lingered in the air from breakfast, providing a blessed relief from the usual smells.

"The man is neither a danger to himself nor to others. You _will_ sign the release that allows him to use his wand." The command could be heard clearly through the closed door of the ward.

 _Severus_ , Gilderoy thought. He stood up, brushed bits of feather off his best robes — forget-me-not blue to match his eyes — and adjusted his hat to a jauntier angle.

The man who strode through the ward door, with Healers Pye and Bracenwell hurrying to catch up, wore black robes that swirled around his ankles and a scowl. His hair was lank, his nose showed signs of having been broken, and he still hadn't fixed his teeth.

Gilderoy had never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life.

"Is this it?" Severus indicated the trunk with his wand.

"So they say," Gilderoy said.

"You had far more than this when you left Hogwarts." Severus swung around, his wand now aimed directly between the two Healers. "Explain."

"St Mungo's does not provide storage space," Pye said. "If it didn't fit into his assigned furnishings, then family members would have been expected to cart it away."

"I have no family." Gilderoy shuffled closer to Severus's back.

"He's been here a lot of years," Bracenwell said. "Before either of us were appointed to this ward. I could launch an inquiry and find out."

"You do that," Severus drawled. "In the meantime, Gilderoy and I shall calculate his losses. It will serve as a test of his memory, if nothing else."

Signing him out, getting his potions — which Severus dismissed with a sneer, demanding the formulations instead — walking through the hospital to the Apparition point, all of it happened in a blur. Gilderoy stayed beside Severus the entire time, occasionally touching him for reassurance.

When they stood in front of each other at the Apparition point, Severus's severe façade finally cracked and his mouth quirked into a familiar crooked smile. "Can you hold on to your trunk?"

Gilderoy nodded and reached down blindly for the handle on the top-end.

"We'll be home soon enough," Severus said and held out his hand.

Reaching out, holding on, Gilderoy flashed Severus a smile. A real smile, not the one he used as a shield against fans and people he didn't trust.

Home. He wasn't sure that that meant, but he was looking forward to finding out.

~fin~


End file.
